Three's a Crowd
by Checkerboards
Summary: A dummy, a puppet and a pawn, served up warm with a twist of Cyrano de Bergerac.
1. Company

There were flames in his glasses but no fire in his eyes.

Two figures stood quietly together in the empty street. The flames flickered angrily in the doorway in front of them.

He looked through the reflection of the fire and gazed helplessly into the other figure's eyes. They glimmered in the moonlight.

There was nothing else to do.

They turned and walked away.

* * *

It was a warm spring day, and Arnold Wesker was out walking with his boss. He cradled the tiny body carefully in his arms as they walked down the streets, letting him look back and forth at all the sights there were in the busy street market. 

Mr. Scarface was closer to him than family. He was all he had in this world, and he'd do well to remember it. After all, didn't Mr. Scarface remind him of that every day?

Arnold raised a hand and gently rubbed the black eye that Mr. Scarface had given him last night, after that…discussion about the bank job.

Wasn't he worth it? To be so close to someone that powerful. Mr. Scarface got respect. When Mr. Scarface talked, people listened. When Arnold talked, people looked away, or talked to someone else right over him.

Wasn't he worth it?

Mr. Scarface shifted in his arm and glared up at him. "Get that hand back down here, dummy. I don't pay you to rub your eye all day."

"Yessir, Mr. Scarface," Arnold nodded, and wrapped his hand back under Scarface's legs. They continued walking, taking in the sights and sounds of the marketplace.

A scream attracted their attention. Arnold turned them and they saw an overly made up woman in a short red dress being yanked through the crowd by a big man with a wobbly potbelly shoved into his dirty t-shirt. The man pulled her into an abandoned alley.

"Get closer, dummy," ordered Scarface. Arnold hastened to obey.

"…and you hurt your precious little ankle! Listen here, sweetheart, I got better things to do than wait on you. Keep up or get out," he snapped.

"Okay, Bud, okay," she gasped, rubbing her swollen ankle. "I'll keep up, I will."

The behemoth grabbed her by the wrist again and pulled her out of the alley. She limped as quickly as she could behind him, hopping and skipping when limping wasn't fast enough. Her scarlet high heels scraped frantically on the asphalt as she tried to stay with him.

"Come on, Linda, you fat cow!" Linda, who certainly didn't fit that description, panted and hopped desperately behind him as they disappeared into the horde of people. The last thing they saw of her was her hair as it swung wildly around the corner and disappeared.

_Linda._

Scarface rolled her name around in his mind. What a body, what a hot little number, and so obedient! He'd never seen a woman like her before. She made him feel…_powerful_ just looking at her!

_Linda._

Arnold looked after her sadly. That poor girl, stuck in such a bad relationship. It was too bad she didn't have someone like Mr. Scarface to look after her.

"Hey, dummy?"

"Y-yes, Mr. Scarface?"

"Let's go home. I've got some thinkin' to do."


	2. Orders

Home at the moment was a few rooms deep inside the rat's warren of warehouses in downtown Gotham. Arnold threaded his way past the afternoon drunks and the wary homeless crouching near the walls and let himself into the small apartment. One of Scarface's boys touched the brim of his hat in an automatic reflex of politeness as they passed him by.

They sat down on the dusty couch, Arnold carefully balancing Scarface on one knee and turning him so they could see each other's eyes.

Scarface tapped his hand idly on his gun. "Hey dummy."

"Yes, Mister Scarface?"

"That broad today. You got any thoughts?"

Arnold looked down into those tiny, beady eyes and gulped. "Well, she seemed like a…a nice lady, Mister Scarface."

"A nice lady.What am I askin' you for?" he bellowed. "Listen up, dummy. I like that broad." Scarface's eyes, flat and shining, gleamed as he leaned toward Arnold. "And you're gonna help me get her."

"H-h-h-help?" quavered Arnold.

"Yeah. You're gonna fill her in on the way things work around here, got it?"

Arnold nodded frantically in the spotlight gaze. "But…how will I find her?"

Scarface's jaw dropped in a grin. "You leave that to the boys."

* * *

The boys did their work fast and well. By the end of the week, Arnold had a piece of paper with Linda Karlsen's address, phone number, and daily schedule printed neatly on it tucked into his back pocket.

And now Arnold found himself standing around on the corner, waiting for little Linda to make an appearance so Mister Scarface's plan could start. Of course, the plan meant that Mister Scarface had to stay at home so that Arnold could talk to Linda about him.

Arnold shoved his hands deep into his pockets so they wouldn't keep cradling the empty air and scanned the crowd for Linda. There…there, in the distance…that blonde hair. It must be her. His right hand twitched, fingers curling themselves into their old familiar places as if Mister Scarface was with him.

Arnold readied himself and started walking toward her. Just as he got within ten feet of her, he suddenly panicked. He didn't know how to talk to girls! What on earth was he going to say to her? He didn't _dare_ disappoint Mister Scarface.

Just then, a burly man hip-checked Linda into a parking meter. She rebounded off of it and skidded on her high heels. One went to the left, one went to the right, and Linda ended up in an graceless heap on the curb. As the man passed Arnold, he gave him a sly wink. _It's Joey,_ Arnold thought with relief. _Ah! An excuse to talk to her! _

He rushed up and shyly offered a hand. "Are you, uh, are you all right?" he murmured.

"I'm fine," she said, tugging futilely at her miniskirt. She reached down and picked up her left shoe. The long sharp heel, nearly five inches long, had snapped almost in half. She pushed gently at the broken bit, worrying it like a loose tooth. A tiny tear ran down her face, leaving an ebony mascara trail as it rolled quietly down her cheek.

"Oh, don't…don't cry, it'll be all right," said Arnold desperately.

"It's just that…these shoes…were his fa-ha-havorites…" she started to bawl.

Arnold knelt down awkwardly next to her. "Here, take my handkerchief," he offered. She snuffled into it, wiping her eyes delicately with the corners. "You…um…look like you could use someone to talk to?" he asked hesitantly.

She nodded slowly, winding the handkerchief around one clawlike scarlet fingernail. The long painted curve of acrylic suddenly popped off of her nail, sending up a short spray of dried glue shards. She sniffled again and dropped the handkerchief in her lap.

"Let me…buy you lunch," he stammered. "You could talk to me, if you wanted."

Her eyes narrowed just a bit as she looked up at him through her tears. "You're not one of those creepy stalker types, are you?"

With thoughts of the neatly folded paper in his back pocket, he shook his head no and hesitantly took her hand.


	3. DateTime Drama

The lunch went wonderfully. Arnold had never had a better date. True, the waiter brought them both the wrong kind of soup, but it was an excellent chance to jump-start the conversation. And yes, Linda had spent a good portion of the meal crying into Arnold's handkerchief, smearing it with zebra stripes of black mascara and splotches of vivid sapphire and ruby with her tears, but at least she was talking to him.

They were waiting for the bill. The waiter was across the room in plain sight, idly hitting on a waitress. It was obvious that they'd be there for a while.

Linda sniffled again, then hiccuped loudly. "I…I always get them…when I cry too much," she explained between the spasms. "You've…been so nice today…and I don't even know anything…about you."

"Well, I…" _Careful._ "I'm just me. Just Arnold Wesker."

"Yes, but…I mean…what do you…do?"

"Oh. I'm, uh, um, a personal assistant," he said, shifting nervously in his seat.

"For…who?"

"Oh, you wouldn't know my boss," Arnold insisted.

"What's he…like?" she asked, covering her mouth with one hand in a vain attempt to fend off the hiccups.

"He's…" Arnold looked down at his plate pensively. "He's very…he's strong, a very strong personality. A great man," he added hurriedly.

He remembered all the robberies, all the shootings, all the crimes he'd been an accessory to because Mister Scarface demanded it. He winced from the memories, and told himself firmly that he had to follow the plan.

The waiter finally brought the check over. After everything was paid, Arnold insisted on giving the shoeless Linda a ride back to her apartment. He let her give him directions, though he really didn't need them.

He caught a glimpse of the inside of the apartment when she let herself in. It was done in bright colors, like the inside of an artist's paint set. The attempts at decorating were covered over by paper plates on every available surface, pizza boxes piled in stacks on the floor, and an overwhelming stench of dirty laundry that hit Arnold in the face like Batman's fist.

"I'm sorry for the mess," she apologized, stepping back outside and shutting the door quickly. "My boyfriend…my…ex-boyfriend…he didn't like to clean." Arnold nodded understandingly.

"It was nice meeting you, Linda," he said quietly. "Maybe…you'd like to do it again sometime?" _Idiot. She'll never agree after you-_

"Yes," she gasped. "I mean, of course I would. Friday?"

"Of course," he beamed. He waved goodbye to her and walked carefully back down the rickety stairs to his car. He drove back toward his apartment still smiling.

Linda watched him drive off. Her hand squeezed the doorknob tight as she smiled, remembering the way he'd listened, and not just halfway like everyone else, but really _listen_ listened. _Kinda funny-looking, but such a sweetie!_ She walked inside her filthy apartment and swept Bud's picture off the end table with the back of her hand. It landed on the floor with a satisfying crash.

Arnold was grinning wider than the Joker himself on the way home. She liked him! She liked him, and he liked her. It would be wonderful, they would be wonderful together, and Friday they'd go on their first real date and everything would be perfect. He could hardly wait to tell…

Mister Scarface.

Arnold's thoughts (and his car) screeched to a halt. Mister Scarface. The plan.

Oh boy.


	4. Perceptions

Arnold sweated his way through the next few weeks. Scarface, never one to be very cheerful, seemed distracted and out-of-sorts. He pressed Arnold for every detail about Linda that he could think of.

Arnold knew everything about Linda. He could supply any answer required of him, and could have given answers to questions that were never asked. He even knew the names of her childhood pets.

He was in love, and desperately trying to hide it.

When he dared to think about it, he thought she just might love him back.

He didn't dare think about the fact that he still hadn't told her just who Mister Scarface was.

It was another Saturday, which meant another date with Linda. Arnold hummed to himself as he straightened his bowtie in the mirror.

"Dummy."

Arnold turned to face Mister Scarface, who was seated on the couch. "Yes?"

"Bring her back here. I want to meet her."

Arnold smiled nervously. "Oh, I'm sure that next week-"

"Tonight," he snapped.

Arnold nodded slowly and picked up his hat. "T-tonight. Yessir."

He could feel the beady eyes burning into him as he closed the door.

* * *

Linda had promised him a surprise this afternoon. His eyes widened in shock when she presented him with the surprise: two tickets to an old-fashioned vaudeville act, complete with a ventriloquist. 

"I…we could go to a movie," he suggested.

"Now, Arnie, I've had these tickets for weeks! We're going." Linda gave a happy little sigh at the thought.

The show was insipid and lackluster by Arnold's standards. The comedians dropped the punchlines, the tumblers dropped each other, and the ventriloquist's lips were _moving_.

Linda laughed as they walked out into the warm afternoon air. "I thought the show was very funny. What did you think, Arnie?"

Lips pressed together, Arnold shrugged.

"C'mon, honey! Bet you've never seen a ventriloquist that good in your life!"

That stung. He turned to her, lips still together, and a nearby bush remarked "Balderdash!" in a prissy English accent. A tree to the other side of them agreed with a deep, slow "Ayup," followed with the very air overhead chattering girlishly.

"Arnie?" Linda asked, confused, looking from the bush to the tree. "Are you…"

He smiled. "Hi, Linda!" greeted the mailbox with Arnold's voice.

Linda squealed and grabbed him in a tight hug. Her pale pink skirt blew in the breeze and wrapped around his leg like a cat. "Oh, Arnie! That's amazing!"

He flushed with happiness as she held him, savoring that hug as if it was the first she'd ever given him. As they continued walking down the path, Linda began to turn to her own apartment.

"I was thinking we could go to my place for a bit," stammered out Arnold. Linda stared at him curiously. "You know, for coffee…"

"Okay, Arnie," she smiled, taking him by the hand. "Lead the way."

* * *

Arnold hesitated outside the door, hand on the doorknob. 

"Forget your keys?" Linda asked softly.

"No, no," he dismissed her question, "It's just that…well. Here we go." He pushed the door open slowly and showed Linda in.

Mister Scarface was sitting on the couch, facing the door. Arnold gulped. "Linda, this is…this is Mister Scarface."

"Oh, is this your dummy?" Linda burbled, running over to the couch and bouncing down next to him. Before Arnold could move, she had Scarface upside down in midair and was examining him all over. One of his shoes clonked woodenly against his face.

"That's…don't do that, please," he asked, gently tugging Mister Scarface out of her hands. He settled him down in his customary spot in the crook of his arm. Scarface's eyes swung around and locked on Arnold, giving him a death glare.

"Why not, honey? He's just a dummy. Unless he's an antique or something." Linda tilted her head questioningly at him.

"He's…" Arnold began.

"He's not used to bein' upside down," said Mister Scarface. Arnold stared at him in astonishment. He wasn't angry at her? He wasn't even annoyed? He sounded like he was joking around with her! Mister Scarface did _not_ joke.

"Oh, how cute! He's a little gangster, isn't he?" Linda giggled.

"Yes," murmured Arnold.

"Hey, don't waste your time talkin' to the dummy. I'm right here, in livin' color," Scarface interrupted. Arnold, who was used to this treatment, could only blink in amazement at how…at how _not mean_ Mister Scarface sounded. It was unreal.

Arnold blinked and refocused on what was happening in front of him. Mister Scarface was moving now, putting a hand on Linda's. "So, sweetheart, you wanna get some dinner?" he said to her.

She laughed uneasily and glanced at her watch. "Arnold, honey, don't you remember? We're having dinner with my parents today, then we're taking that horse-drawn cart ride-"

"I told ya, stop talkin' to the dummy," Scarface snapped irritably. His hand rubbed Linda's. "Dinner with your folks, huh? I'll get my good hat."

Linda pulled her hand away from Scarface's. "Sorry, pal, you're not invited," she teased, flicking him in the nose with a shining pink fingernail. "Humans only. Come on, Arnie, put the dummy down and let's go already. We're going to be late."

"But-" he protested. Scarface rubbed his nose with his empty hand in shock.

Linda grabbed Scarface by the front of his shirt and yanked him right out of Arnold's grip, tossing him carelessly on the couch as she took hold of Arnold's arm. He landed on his face, legs splayed to either side, arms tangled beneath him. Arnold froze in fear as a growl of rage started to emanate from the couch. "We can come _back _for coffee. Let's _go_, Arnie," Linda insisted, pulling him as hard as she could out of the room.

"Get back here, dummy," growled Scarface from the couch as Linda dragged Arnold out the door. "Get back here right now or-"

The door slammed shut.


	5. Hearts On Fire

Meeting your girlfriend's parents has always been a time of great worry for both parties. For some parents, the first encounter sets in stone who you really are, regardless of extenuating circumstances.

Linda's parents were a little put out, therefore, when she entered their home with a paranoid and distracted Arnold Wesker, who barely said two words to them and who didn't even eat some of the lovely roast beef that Linda's mother had spent all day preparing.

After dinner, Linda excused them and hauled Arnold out to the porch. "What is wrong with you?" she snapped at him the instant they were out of earshot of her parents. "I told you yesterday-"

"We've got to go back," interrupted Arnold, fingers clenching in his pockets. He could almost feel the weight of Mister Scarface in his arms. "Now. We have to-"

"I'm not going anywhere, and neither are you!" she hissed.

"We…" Mad inspiration struck him. "I left the iron on. My apartment could be burning down right now."

She gave him a suspicious look. "Arnold Wesker-"

"We have to go back and turn it off," he insisted.

She nodded slowly at him and went back inside for her purse. Arnold paced on the porch, elbows locked to keep his arms from lifting. Mister Scarface needed him, he could feel it.

What had he done, what had he done, what had he done? The thought circled around his mind. He'd walked out on Mister Scarface, he'd stolen Mister Scarface's woman, he'd ruined the plan.

Linda reappeared on the porch, snapping the clasp shut on her pearl-white purse. "Come on, honey, let's go," she said, placing one hand on his elbow. He jerked away from her touch as if it burned him.

"Yes, let's go," he muttered absently, all but racing to Linda's car. She raised one carefully-plucked eyebrow and followed him, satin pink heels clicking on the concrete.

Arnold stared silently out the window for the entire ride. What was he going to _do_?

They arrived at the parking garage down the street from Arnold's place. Arnold looked desperately up at the sky as they walked along. Maybe Batman would swoop down and capture him, carry him away before they got back to the apartment. Mister Scarface wouldn't be able to get to him in Arkham, would he?

They arrived at the apartment. Arnold shook as he opened the door.

It swung open to reveal Mister Scarface seated grimly on the couch, right-side-up, machine gun aimed directly at the doorway. Arnold gulped.

"Dummy. Get over here." Scarface's voice was flat with fury. Arnold ran over to his side and picked him up, cradling him gently in one arm.

Scarface's eyes clicked once to Arnold's face, then over to Linda. "You. Get in here, doll-face."

Linda folded her arms in the doorway. "That's not very nice, Arnie-"

A gunshot rang out, and a bullet hole appeared in the doorframe next to her head. "I'm not bein' nice anymore, toots. Get in here and stop talkin' to the dummy."

Linda, eyes wide, stepped hesitantly inside. Mister Scarface leaned forward, almost toppling out of Arnold's arm. "I want to make a little proposition to you, doll."

"Arnold, what's going on?" she squeaked.

"He just wants to-" Arnold started to stammer.

"You had your chance, dummy. Now dummy up and keep out of it," snarled Mister Scarface as he swiveled around to glare venemously at Arnold. He turned back around to look at Linda, who was inching back to the open door. "You may not know this, but you owe me a little something. Time to pay up," he said, gesturing with the gun.

"I don't owe you a thing," Linda insisted, "and anyway, I don't have any money on me-"

"Money? Toots, you owe me more than that," he snapped. His free hand flung itself backward, indicating Arnold. "I arranged your little meeting with him, start to finish."

"So?" she demanded.

"Start to finish, doll. You remember Bud, don't you?" His jaw dropped in a malevolent grin. Linda took an involuntary step backward.

"He…he died in an accident," she stammered. "You couldn't have-"

"Oh, _I_ didn't." Scarface chuckled. "Dummy here helped me. Pushed the lever to drop that machinery quick as anything."

Linda gasped and looked at Arnold. Arnold was shaking his head, looking down at the top of Mister Scarface's head. He wanted to deny it, wanted to deny everything.

"And now it's time to pay up." Scarface grinned again. "For a start, you'll be with me from now on, not the dummy."

"You-" she gasped as Scarface lowered the gun to the floor, "you can't be serious…" She started backing slowly out the door. She stopped, trembling, on the threshold as Scarface leveled the gun and aimed it right at her face.

"You ain't goin' nowhere," he growled at her.

There was a sound of horseshoes on asphalt outside. The carriage for their moonlit ride through Gotham's parks had arrived.

Linda looked at the two of them- Scarface threatening her with the miniature machine gun, Arnold silently pleading for her to go along with it. Suddenly Arnold started to walk toward her, Scarface reaching out with his empty hand for her shoulder.

She screamed and swung her purse at them. The white satin of the purse connected with the dirty felt of Scarface's hat in a perfect backhand and Scarface went flying across the room. As Arnold ran after Mister Scarface, Linda turned and bolted out the door.

"Get her!" Mister Scarface ordered the moment he was back in Arnold's hands. Arnold bulled through the open doorframe and caught up to Linda, who was hoisting herself into the carriage. Arnold heard the driver mutter something to Linda about Arkham.

Linda whirled in her seat and stared with a new terror at the pair of them. To Linda, who never read too much of the paper if she could help it, it wasn't altogether surprising that she'd never heard of them. After all, with all the Joker toxin, fear gas, and overactive plantlife in Gotham, there was very little room for a ventriloquist and his dummy on the front page.

The driver threatened Arnold with the long whip he used on the horse.

"Get out of that thing right now!" Scarface snapped.

Linda shook her head. Her baby-blue eyes flickered orange in the light from the lanterns.

Scarface raised his gun and aimed it at her. "I'm not just askin', doll."

Linda stood up and put her hand on the back of the carriage. Arnold grinned with weak relief. She was going along with it, it was all going to be all right-

The lantern caught him in the chest and burst open, splashing him and Mister Scarface with oil. Flames began to lick over them as Arnold screamed. He ran back to the apartment's entryway as fast as he could. Throwing Mister Scarface down in a dirt pile, he rolled frantically around in a pile of rotting garbage to douse the flames. The drunk that had been picking through it for scraps ducked as bits of refuse went flying.

Sparks from Scarface set the open door alight. Arnold rolled over to him and hugged him tight, smothering the flames with his own body. They got up and ran out into the street.

The carriage and Linda were gone.

They turned back around and looked at the apartment building, now merrily blazing in the evening air. Arnold felt Mister Scarface shift in his arms, away from the streaks of rotting garbage down his front.

They watched the fire. "Dummy?" Scarface said.

"Yes, Mister Scarface?" muttered Arnold.

"Forget the dame."

He turned and stared at Arnold. Arnold, for just a moment, one tiny shining moment, wanted to hurl Mister Scarface as hard as he could into the blazing inferno that was once their home.

He met Mister Scarface's stare again, and bowed his head.

Arnold nodded.

"Yes, Mister Scarface."

They walked away.


End file.
